Wish Upon a Star
by Klicks
Summary: It was too good to be true for 19 year old needs-job-desperately Alfred Jones. Who cares if he doesn't know a thing about personal assistants! This was for Arthur. Freaking. Kirkland. His HERO! He couldn't screw this one up...
1. Chapter 1

Thursday morning.

Alfred Jones stood proudly before the mirror and admired his own reflection from all angles, grinning to himself.

Oh, he was such a handsome looking thing.

Cockily, he smoothed his hand back through his hair and smirked when his cowlick sprang energetically away from his fingers. Oh yes, check out that pick up face. If he really put his heart into it, he'd probably have about five girlfriends now, at least.

And a job. He would probably most definitely have a job by now if his interviewers had been of the female species.

"Alfred!"

Oh for crap's sake-!

"What?!" He shouted down the stairs, irritated. "I'm busy, Dad! Leave me alone for a min!"

"Come down stairs! I've got something to show you!"

Groaning loudly, the 19 year old stuck his hands sullenly into his pockets and trudged down the stairs, deliberately dragging his feet as he moved. This was going to be another one of those 'you should think about your future now!' lectures. It really wasn't fair. He _did_ think about his future, he really did. The only problem was that his future wasn't thinking about _him_.

"Hurry up. I think this job sounds really promising for you."

_I don't!_ Alfred thought venomously, but made his way towards the living room anyway. His father was perched upon the couch, earnestly scrutinizing two entire sheets of newspaper that were spread completely over the tea table. He looked up as soon as Alfred entered, beckoning him over.

"I think you'll like this job, Alfred." He said, pointing enthusiastically at an advert upon the newspaper. "The income's pretty high, the job's easy, and it will start you off just as fine. Looks good on your CV too. It's brilliant!"

"What is it?" Alfred frowned, bending forwards to peer at the small print. God, he needed new glasses.

"Receptionist work. I think it suits you just fine!"

Alfred deadpanned.

"What."

"Receptionist work! What, you don't like it? I thought you wanted a job where you could, what did you say, 'interact' with other people?"

Uh, yeah, well that was just an excuse so he didn't have to work as a _toilet cleaner_.

"Dad. _Father_. I can find my own job just fine…" Oh god. How to say this without provoking an hour long speech? He had to tread carefully. "I… I've been thinking! Honest! Mattie's brought me a ton of ads and newspapers and stuff that I've been looking at…"

From across the room over the top of his Nintendo. But looking was looking, right?

His father set down the newspaper, his early excitement quickly replaced by a stern, frowning disappointment. "Alfred."

Crap.

But before the speech could even properly begin, Alfred's twin brother, Matthew, walked through the front door, clutching a plastic bag heavily laden with books. Alfred could have cried from relief at the perfect timing. He must have been a _really_ good person in a past life to deserve a brother as awesome as Mattie.

"Heeeey, Mattie!" He exclaimed, hastily hurrying away from the sofa to envelope his brother into an overwhelming hug. "Where've you been? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages! Why d'you get up so early during the hols anyway? What did you have for breakfast? Have you been to town? What've you got in your bag? Can I have a look? Oh god, Mattie, you don't know how much I've _missed_ you…!"

"Um… You can let go now," Matthew mumbled, wincing under Alfred's powerful embrace, and somewhat reluctantly, Alfred complied, shooting his frowning father a nervous glance.

"Where have you been, Mattie?" The elder man questioned, still giving Alfred a disapproving glare.

"Just a trip into town with Mom." Matthew replied, sidling past Alfred to dump his books upon the table. "I wanted to get familiar with the local area and England, seeing as we just moved and everything." He smiled, half-heartedly reaching into his bag. "I even bought some classic English novels from the book store."

"Why?" Alfred frowned, creeping cautiously closer to the sofa. Now that Mattie was here, he felt significantly more secure, but he knew that he wasn't entirely safe just yet. Curiously reaching into the plastic bag, he pulled out a heavy volume illustrated with flamboyant, old fashioned English people. "'Pride and Prejudice'?" He read, unable to disguise his disgust.

Matthew flushed, hurriedly snatching the book out of Alfred's hands. "I w-want to learn more about English culture!" He stammered, face reddening slightly. "And… I'll need this sort of stuff in university too."

"Smartass." Alfred muttered under his breath, half teasing and half serious. He was proud of Mattie, he really was. It wasn't as though anyone could get into Oxford, after all. But still… It hurt to know that Matthew was the one his parents were proud of. Not him. Not Alfred Jones, the college dropout currently leeching off his parent's savings.

"Mom's gone to do some more shopping." Matthew was informing his father, carefully stacking his books into a neat pile. "She said she's coming back in about an hour… half twelve? I think some handbag's caught her eye… Be warned."

"Alright." His father grunted, his gaze already returning to the newspapers. Alfred swallowed. Uh oh. Mattie could only save him for so long. Soon, his twin will leave to study, he and his father will be alone, and…

Crap crap crappity crap on a cupcake! He was so doomed…!

Until Matthew spoke again.

"Oh, Alfred! You'll never guess what happened earlier. I saw these people, professionals, shooting a film in the town center today."

"Wha- Really?!" Oh, it had been his dream since _childhood_ to star in a film. Who knows? Perhaps, with his good looks and charm, he _might_ just catch the eye of some brilliant, hot, female director, who will hand him a million bucks and hire him on the spot…!

"Um… Earth to Alfred?" Matthew frowned, waving a hand over Alfred's vacant expression.

"H-Huh? Oh, yeah! Sorry Matt. What d'you say?"

"I didn't say anything, yet." Matthew sighed, picking up his neat stack of novels. "But I think it was your favorite actor that was there… What was his name again? Arthur, I think… Kirkland. That English one you always liked."

Alfred's jaw dropped to the floor.

"The… What?! THE Arthur Kirkland?!"

And his hands were upon Matthew's shoulder, and the younger boy could only gasp helplessly as his elder brother shook him about in an excited frenzy, shouting something he could only just understand.

"Arthur Kirkland! Oh my god. Was he actually _there_?! Did you see him? When?! Is he still there? God. I have to see him. Right now."

His coat was already slung over his shoulders before he had even finished his interrogation, but there was only one thing on his mind. Arthur Kirkland. Arthur _fucking_ Kirkland. His, _Alfred's_, one and only hero. He had never, _ever_, admired anyone like he had admired Arthur, the boy who hit fame at the age of 14. It had just been one trip to the cinema, and the 10 year old Alfred was completely captivated by this amazing hero who seemed capable of doing anything and everything. He would be a hero too, one day, he had often promised himself. A hero, like Arthur.

"And where do you think you're going, young man?"

Alfred froze.

His father was standing up now, his face as dark as thunderclouds. Matthew was watching nervously from the sidelines, clutching his books tightly to his chest as though they would protect him from the storm that was sure to follow.

"Alfred Jones. You have been far too irresponsible and lazy lately, and as your father I can't let this sort of behavior continue!"

Alfred turned.

"You've done nothing except lie around playing your video games all day! Here I am, doing the best I can to help you on in life, and all _you_ can think about is your stupid film star and your ridiculous dream! You're going to stay here, and look for a proper job. No arguments!"

Oh. Oh that's _it_.

"Nobody disses my favorite actor in my fucking face!" _Especially not you, old man. _"I can do whatever the hell I like, OK? Now leave me alone! I'm going!"

"Alfred!"

And with that final, furious shout from his father, Alfred was out of the house, enjoying the last echoes of his fantastic door slam.

Hmph. Stupid old man. Who did he think he was, bossing him around? He was _nineteen_, for god's sake! He could handle stuff himself now! Especially something as stupid as a _job_.

… Though one thing he would very much like to handle right now would be a map of the town.

He wandered around aimlessly for a while, lost within the rows and rows of squat, English houses, but eventually came to the conclusion that this was not the way to town. There was, however, a sign guiding him to the town center of the _next_ town. Alfred gave it a kick for good measure.

Crap. At this rate both Arthur and the filming company would be gone by the time he reaches town. Uncertainly, he felt for his phone. Should he call Mattie? God, he didn't even actually know where exactly Arthur was. Now that he thought about it, perhaps storming violently out of the house… hadn't been the best idea he ever had. Um…

For a long moment, he stood, alone in the middle of the street, staring down indecisively at his phone as though it would give him the magic answer to all his problems. Should he call Mattie and show that he _couldn't_ handle stuff on his own, or should he just cross his fingers and hope his luck will hold out?

And then his phone _did_ give him the magical answer in the form of a text.

_Al, u shudn't hav left like that. Dads furious. But anyway… if u want2 find arthur, hes in the costa café next to the argos shop. its rite in the middle of town. if u wanna go2 town, wen u cum2 the end of our street, turn rite 2 elmswood lane + folow til u c the town hall. big building. even u cant miss it. C u. matt_

Yep. He must have been _Superman_ in his past life.

_u r AWSUM matt! I hope u no that! _

_I do. ;) just… dont run in2 truble ok?_

Ridiculous. Alfred scoffed and tucked his phone back into his pocket. Since when did Alfred F. Jones run into trouble, huh?!

* * *

It was eleven fucking o'clock and it was all Mattie's fucking fault.

'Big building', he said, 'even you can't miss it,' he said. And so Alfred had spent _half a fucking hour_ searching for a _fucking Empire State Building_. How the flying _fuck_ was he supposed to know that a 'big building' only meant 'slightly larger than the others'?! Mattie. Was. Screwed.

But his mood lightened when the prospect of meeting Arthur flitted into his mind, and it was difficult to keep the brilliant grin off his face. Arthur. Kirkland. Holy _shit_.

It took a few more wrong turns and double backs before he finally located the coffee shop, nestled within the center of town. But the first thing that actually filled his vision was the great, impressive truck parked squarely in the middle of the street. Two great, burly men were busy shuffling together giant bags of equipment and props. A third was sitting casually in the driver's seat of the truck, munching on a sandwich.

_Fuck_.

"Hey! Uh, 'scuse!" Alfred exclaimed, making a mad dash for the man with the sandwich. "What's going on here? Are you guys leaving or something?!"

The man frowned, peering down at the young man over the top of his sandwich. "Yeah, we are kid." He grunted, brushing the crumbs off his lap. "We were here since four this morning, but they finished the scene pretty quickly, so…"

"What?!" _FML_. "So, where're you going next?! I mean… Damn! I was going…!"

The man gave him an understanding smile. "Ah. Going to see the actors, are you?"

"Hell _yeah_!" OK, he might have sounded a little too excited there, but whatever. "Well, I just wanted to see Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. Do you know where he is?"

"Hmm…" Thoughtfully, the man munched through the crust of his sandwich, eyes gazing down the street. "He's on a lunch break right now."

"Where?!" Definitely too excited. But this was manly admiration for a freaking hero! "Can you tell me where he is?"

"Haha, well, let me tell you one thing." The man laughed, polishing off the rest of his sandwich in a flourish. "I happen to like Arthur very much. He is a polite, charming fellow, and one thing I would not want to happen to him is to be overwhelmed by a series of rampaging fan boys whilst he takes a well-deserved rest. So." He looked at Alfred. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Oh…" Pitifully, Alfred hung his head, eyes downcast as though he were about to burst into tears. Even his cowlick drooped slightly down on his head. "I… I see…"

"Hey! Hey, lad. You alright?" The man exclaimed, reaching out awkwardly to pat Alfred's shoulder. "Oi… Don't be so upset! There's always next time…! I mean, if it's any consolation to you, we'll still be in the area for quite a few months to come. Most of the action of our film will take place here, I believe, not to mention the fact that this place, Oxford, is actually Arthur's hometown."

Alfred only sniffed once more, shuffling his feet unhappily against the pavement. _Come on, come on! No one can last so long against this adorable face! _

The man sighed. "Look, kiddo, I understand how disappointed you must be, but I really can't tell you much more." He paused. "Though if you're lucky, you might bump into someone in town."

And no amount of puppy faces would make him say anymore.

In the end, Alfred was left to wander the streets of Oxford with his hands stuck deep in his pockets and his eyes sullenly counting the amount of cobbles he walked passed.

Yeah, the _fuck_ would he be so lucky as to bump into Arthur Kirkland.

His phone buzzed, an irritating little noise, and impatiently, he flicked it out from his pocket.

Matthew.

_al, wen r u cumin bak? Dads stil mad, but u need 2 hav lunch. Did u c arthur? _

Something snapped in his mind as he scanned the text, and for a sudden, brief moment he was blinded by pure, utter fury. _Fuck _his father! And fuck Mattie too. Who the hell did he think he was, fussing after everything he ever fucking does?! God, he was so pissed. He was _so fucking pissed that he was going to_

_Didnt c arthur. Havin lunch in town. dunno wen ill b bak. Probs go job huntin. _

Oh what the hell. He'd never been able to stay angry with Matt for long.

But fine. Fine! He will go job hunting. If it means he can go home without having to fear for his life, then he will sacrifice himself, like a hero. As long as everybody _else_ was happy.

Didn't mean he was going to be a fucking receptionist though. The very idea of him, Alfred F. Jones, sitting behind a desk being all prissy and formal…!

… No. Put that thought out of your head right now.

And so, with his head held high, Alfred picked himself up from his misery (he was Alfred. F Jones after all!) And began to stride forwards confidently, eyes shining with hope and enthusiasm.

Yeah, it was alright. He would find a job. Find a proper life, and everything would work out in the end. It always did for the hero.

His newfound good mood was somewhat diminished, however, when he turned down an alley only to find himself suddenly caught in the grip of a strange man he had never seen before. His head cracked painfully against the wall, an explosion of agony rippled through his skull, and then everything faded into black.

* * *

"_Monsieur… Monsieur… _Can you hear me?"

Alfred stirred, moaning softly. Fuck, his head felt sore… Why did it hurt so much? It was hard to think properly… God, did he get drunk again or something? But he didn't remember drinking… Huh… How weird... And why couldn't he see anything?

"Ah, good. You're awake. Do you want something to drink?"

Who the hell was this?

"Nnggh…?" He groaned, voice grating sluggishly out of his lips.

OK. That wasn't really a question, but he tried.

"… I shall take that as a yes." The other voice said, sounding both amused and concerned at the same time. "Here..."

Cool, sweet liquid leaked slowly into Alfred's mouth, and he swallowed it in earnest. Hmm… Was that orange juice, or apple? Maybe even mango? Argh… He was so confused and his head hurt so much…

"… There." The voice nodded, and it was only then that Alfred noticed the slight accent tinged within. That, and the fact the guy was male. God, his head must be _really_ messed up for him to miss that.

Sluggishly, he managed to force his eyes open, only to find himself blinking blearily up at the man besides him. His glasses were missing, so the only distinct feature he could see of the other was his shoulder length, golden hair. The rest of the man's face was nothing but a skin-colored blur. Kinda like Slenderman. Or maybe Slenderwoman? Or… Wait… What was he talking about again?

"How are you feeling?" The man asked, strong arms reaching forward to pull him up in a sitting position. The world spun, Alfred's head throbbed even more in protest and his stomach threatened to exhibit its contents all over the pavement. "I found you lying on the floor… Are you alright?"

"Uh…" At least he didn't sound like a freaking troll anymore, even if his voice did still croak a little. "I…"

What had happened to him? He frowned, reaching up to scratch his head in confusion only to wince when his hand made contact. Yeah, OK, never mind. "I… I think I was attacked…" He mumbled, slowly, grimacing.

Oh fuck. He'd just been mugged.

Heart sinking, he reached into his pockets, and found, to his dismay, nothing. His phone, his keys, the twelve dollars he'd forgotten to exchange, even that chocolate bar he'd been meaning to eat… There was nothing left.

His parents were gonna be so _pissed_.

The same realization seemed to dawn upon the other man, for he rested a hand comfortingly upon Alfred's shoulder. "Nothing?" He asked, quietly.

Alfred shook his head, the action sending a wave of nausea rippling through his whole body.

There was a heavy sigh. "_Merde_…" The man muttered, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "Alright… I do not have a phone on me _maintenant_, so we will not be able to call the police." His blurry form shifted away for a moment. "… Where do you live?"

"Uh… New York?"

Wait, no he didn't. Not anymore.

"No no! I mean… I live here. Not _here_ here, but, uh, close…" Damn. What the hell was his new address again? "I just moved. I can't… Uh…"

"Ah." The man folded his arms and pulled himself up on to his feet. He frowned, glancing down the empty alley. "Are these your glasses?"

"Huh?" There was something dangling in front of his face. Blearily, Alfred made two attempts at catching it before his fingers finally closed around the object. "Oh y-yeah… Probably." Awkwardly, he put them on and blinked as his eyes adjusted. Ah, the glorious world of HD! "Thanks."

"_De rien_." The man answered smoothly, his hands stuck casually into his pockets. "But it seems as though we have a… small problem, _non_?"

"You don't say." Alfred muttered, wincing as he tried to probe his head for battle wounds or blood. To his disappointment, he found neither.

The man smiled, but didn't answer, turning instead to glance up and down the alley as though he was hoping somebody else could turn up and give assistance. There was no one.

"Alright." He sighed, looking defeated. "I suppose we must get acquainted, _non_? _Comment tu t'appelle_?"

For one, bewildering moment, Alfred thought his brain had finally lost it and that he was no longer able to comprehend the human language.

"Your name, _monsieur_. Can you remember it?"

Oh right. French.

"Uh, y-yeah. My name's Alfred. Alfred Jones."

"And now we are getting somewhere, _non_?" The man smiled, and extended a hand. "_Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy. Enchanté, Monsieur Jones_."

Francis Bonnefoy? Was it because he had hit his head, or did that name sound vaguely familiar? Alfred could not help but frown even as he shook the other's hand.

"Problem, _monsieur_?" Francis inquired, tilting his head curiously to one side.

"Oh… Nothing. Probably just my head screwing with me, y'know?" He mumbled, suddenly beginning to feel uncomfortable by the fact that Francis had still not let go of his hand yet. Uncertainly, he gave his hand a testing wriggle, and it was only then that Francis let his grip slip.

"Hmm… Tell you what," the Frenchman began, taking another sweep of the surrounding area. "The hotel I'm staying is not far from here… If I take you there, we will be able to call your family and the police… Is there anyone you can contact, _monsieur_?"

"Ah…" Alfred grimaced as he tried to recall a familiar number. "0755… Yeah. I can call Mattie, my brother. He'll be able to pick me up."

"Then we will be able to get you home." Francis nodded, finally appearing to be satisfied. "_Allez-y_!"

Ducking down to Alfred's level, the Frenchman slipped his arm over the other's shoulder, and hastily Alfred did like-wise. The pavement seemed to roll before his eyes and he had to lean heavily on to the other before he could finally regain his balance. His feet felt lighter than the rest of his body, and the sudden shift meant he had to wait for the nausea to pass before he could finally attempt to move.

Francis seemed to find the young man's clinginess oddly amusing, if the smile on his face was anything to go by. "_Ça va, monsieur_?" He asked teasingly as they began their slow shuffle down the street. "I'm afraid you are too heavy for me to carry. If you were _une petite mademoiselle, _however…"

He didn't continue, but Alfred had to resist the urge to squeak in alarm when he felt the hand on his shoulder beginning to slip their way _down_. Oh shit. The one person kind enough to give him help also turns out to be some sex crazed French guy. Trust his luck.

Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Francis' hand, thankfully, did not continue its journey down Alfred's back. But the smile was still fixed firmly upon Francis' face, and Alfred couldn't help but notice that the hand did not return to his shoulder either.

"I-I think I can walk alone." He muttered, face flushing madly with embarrassment. He was a hero, for god's sake! Heroes did not have to rely on anybody. And heroes definitely did not want to get touched inappropriately by creepy French guys. He resisted a shiver. Oh fuck. What if he gets led into some kind of rapist den? Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck. He was sooooo fucking screwed, Perhaps he should –

"Are you sure you can?" Francis asked, interrupting his thoughts with a pair of wide, blue eyes.

"Y-yeah." Well, no, not really, but he was saving up for a hot director of the feminine species.

Expression melting into something akin to a pout, Francis dropped his arm, but still kept a steadying hand upon Alfred's shoulder. For that, Alfred was eternally grateful, because he was sure that without it he probably would have fallen and hit his head all over again. Mumbling his thanks, he stumbled his way towards a wall and clung on to that instead. Francis shot him a look, but said nothing.

They continued like this for a few more minutes, Alfred with one hand resting upon the wall with Francis striding confidently up ahead. The silence was horribly awkward, and Alfred began to wonder whether he had somehow offended the other in any form. He began to relax, however, once he found himself led back towards the busier main streets that began to lead him out of town. It felt somewhat safer to know that others were present. Not that he was scared or anything.

"You are new to _Angleterre_, _non_?" Francis asked suddenly, slowing down into a peaceful pace besides Alfred. "How long has it been since you moved here?"

"Uhh… A few weeks maybe?" Alfred grinned sheepishly. "Yeah... It's kinda quiet, I guess, which is… y'know, different from America, but the weather really sucks."

Francis laughed. "_Oui, bien sûr. __Angleterre _certainly is not known for its good weather, _n'est-ce pas_?" He smiled, running a hand through his own, golden hair. "_Moi_, _ben_… I prefer France."

"No shit, you're French." Alfred couldn't help but point out.

"_C'est vrai_." Francis chuckled. "I have been to many parts of the world, however. America, Canada, Germany… I can safely say that none of them can compare to the beauty and elegance of France."

"Pfft, sure _you'd_ say that."

"_Non, non, non_! If you go to Paris, you shall see what I mean." Francis winked, tucking his hands back into his pockets. "It is part of what I do, you see. Travelling to different places. My employer constantly moves around, and where he goes, I must follow."

"Uh, sure, I get that." Alfred nodded. "So, what are you then? A traveler of some kind? Or a journalist?"

"_Non… _I am just an assistant." With a dramatic sigh, Francis placed a hand upon his chest "Such talent! Such beauty! Wasted behind the scenes!"

Alfred snorted, but didn't comment. Assistant, huh? For who? And what? Still, some part of him felt almost envious of the other. If only he could go to different places like that. Probably for free too…

"So, _monsieur Jones_." Francis was turning to him now, a smirk playing upon his lips. "What do you do for a living? If you are not still studying." He paused meaningfully. "Or busy getting robbed of your living."

"Ha-fucking-ha." Alfred grumbled. "I don't have a job yet… I kinda dropped out of college… Yeah, long story. Actually I'd been trying to look for a job before I got all my stuff freaking taken, so…" Shrugging, he put both hands up in defeat. "FML."

Francis only nodded, his expression suddenly thoughtful. "So you do not have a job?" He queried, one hand stroking the stubble upon his chin.

Alfred sighed. "Yep… My parents are going crazy about it. Always like, trying to find something for me and just _fussing_. It's so damn fucking annoying!" Not to mention it was more than a little hurtful upon his ego. Hmph. Sure they meant well, but… Couldn't they do it _without_ reminding him of what a giant freaking failure he was? 'Cos seriously… It was driving him crazy.

"And what kind of jobs did you have in mind?" Francis pressed, thin eyebrows knitting together in thought.

"Uh…" Well, OK, he hadn't actually put much thought into that, 'cos he'd always assumed that he would just _know_ when the right job came along. "I guess… Probably more like… stuff I can actually do. Physically, y'know? I don't think I can sit still long enough to stare at a computer for 8 hours a day." Just the thought of _8 hours without moving _was enough to make his whole body ache in longing for the basketball courts. "… I'm not sure. Guess I can even do volunteer work to begin with. Stuff for experience, or something, right?"

"I agree…" Francis murmured, looking lost in his own little world.

Alfred gave him a worried glance. "Uh, you alright?"

The Frenchman blinked. "Ah, _bien sûr_." He gave the younger man a reassuring pat on the back. "But I believe I can help you in finding a job."

And suddenly the creepy French guy was gone, replaced by a beautiful angel who was obviously sent by Heaven to give the hero guidance towards the light.

Alfred would have kissed him in delight.

Except that was what women did, whereas men only hugged, so naturally Alfred settled upon something of an excited, one-armed fling. It lasted until Francis made another inappropriate southward movement, but considering that the man had just brought him the best news since America's independence, Alfred felt willing to forgive him. Just this once.

"I shall have to discuss this with my employer, of course," Francis explained, as they returned to their journey once more. "_Mais,_ I am sure I will be able to settle something for you, _monsieur_. As long as you do not seek too much in terms of _l'argent_, and as long as your work is professional, I believe it will not be too much trouble to get you employed…" He paused suddenly, considering. "Actually, we can meet him once we are back in the _l'hôtel_. We will talk then."

"Sure, alright." Shrugging carelessly, Alfred let the Frenchman take the lead once more. Whoever that guy was, he sounded pretty damn frigging rich. Huh. Wait until Mattie hears about this!

Soon after that conversation, they arrived at Francis' hotel; a small, five story building sitting amiably towards the end of a quiet road, unremarkable and modest. Even so, Alfred couldn't help but notice the sleek, black Mercedes parked directly in front of it.

Yep. He'd caught a big one.

Francis was humming when he led them both into the hotel's lobby, his hands still stuck firmly within his pockets. "Ah, Jane, _ma cherie_!" He called out cheerily as they strode towards the receptionist, a slim, young girl who had fallen about giggling as soon as the Frenchman approached. "Can you call room 103, _s'il vous plaît_? I have some business that I must attend to _maintenant_."

"Business?" 'Jane' repeated, raising an eyebrow teasingly as her eyes flickered between Alfred and Francis. "Girls not the only thing you like?"

Alfred frowned, about to speak up and protest, but Francis answered before he could, leaning suggestively upon the receptionist desk with a faint smirk upon his face. "_Bien sûr, mademoiselle_. » He purred, twirling a single strand of his hair with one finger. "_Pourquoi_? Jealous?"

Jane's face flushed a bright, crimson red. "Oh shut up, you!" She giggled, swatting the other away. "Do you want your call or not?"

"_Oui, oui_! _Merci beaucoup, ma belle._ » The Frenchman submitted immediately, raising his hands in defeat. "I will forever be in your debt!"

"Hmm… Be good to me, and maybe I'll let you go free." Jane warned, one hand resting archly upon her hip whilst the other sat comfortably upon the telephone. "Deal?"

"_Bien sûr_." Francis grinned, and blew her a kiss that made her flush even more than ever. Bowing her head slightly, she set about dialing the number whilst resolutely refusing to meet the other's gaze.

"I just met her yesterday." Francis commented casually, sidling up towards Alfred. "_Ell est très beau, non_?"

"Please introduce one for me." Alfred heard himself begging, in a voice that sounded distant even to his own ears. Probably because his eyes were so focused upon Jane's sexy, _sexy_ waist. God dammit, why the hell was that receptionist desk so _high_?!

"Of course I will!" Francis nodded, casually slipping one arm around Alfred's shoulders. "I believe we are _amis_ now, _non_?"

"Fuck yeah!" Alfred exclaimed, nodding his head vigorously. _Especially if you could get me a smoking hot girlfriend…!_

At that point, Jane set down the receiver, and Francis dropped his arm as he turned back to the receptionist desk, a flirtatious smirk already playing upon his lips. "Well?" He pressed, flicking his hair back out of his eyes.

"Arthur said that he's on his way now." Answered Jane carelessly, purposefully turning her attention upon Alfred. "So how did you come across Francis, huh?"

Oh god. The beautiful female was talking to him. Alfred swallowed unnaturally, and tried to appear casual. "W-Well…" He began, half stammering. "I-I…"

Wait. He couldn't say that he'd been robbed. That would sound too pathetic and weak. Should he make up some great, heroic tale? But Francis knows what had happened, after all. Maybe he could twist the truth a little. Skip over the 'being robbed' part and just say that Francis was helping him. But… Ugh, no no no, even that didn't sound very manly. What about…?

Unfortunately, before he could even decide on a plausible story, Francis answered for him.

"The poor _garcon _here was robbed." The Frenchman said, shaking his head. "I found him lying on the floor, and so I decided to help. I did not have my phone with me, you see, and his was stolen."

"Oh honey," Jane sighed, shooting Alfred a sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry. Do you want me to call the police right now?"

"Uh…" Alfred frowned. "Uh… I dunno. It wasn't really anything important that was taken, hah. I mean, my phone was pretty old anyway… I didn't have much money on me…"

"The _garcon_ is looking for a job," Francis added, much to Alfred's irritation. "And Arthur is also looking for an assistant, so I thought, 'why not'? It is only a few very simple chores; even Arthur can only be so picky."

"Uh… Who?" Alfred frowned, not wanting to be left out of the conversation at all. Arthur? Arthur _Kirkland_? Surely not… But, what if…?

"That bad, huh?" Jane murmured, either ignoring or not hearing the other's question. "I take it he's a bit of a perfectionist, huh?"

"Something like that." Francis agreed, sighing. "He can be a rather difficult man at times. But I think even he cannot argue with me this time." He winked, as though there was some inner joke that those two shared. "This is for a good cause after all, _non_?"

And finally, Alfred couldn't hide his curiosity any longer. "Who _are_ you talking about?!" He demanded, exasperated, but he really didn't need to bother, for at that exact moment, the answer came striding round the corner, one hand busily combing through his messy, wet blonde hair, whilst the other fumbled clumsily with his tie, a scowl heavily framed upon his features.

"You could at least call when I'm _not_ having a bloody shower!" Grumbled Arthur Kirkland, glaring heatedly at the trio before him. "What is it that you wanted me for?"

* * *

**AN: **Hopefully Arthur will make things a lot more fun. :D

Sorry, this is kinda long. I just had a lotta fun writing as Alfred, although it was kinda difficult, because I'm more of an 'Arthur' really. When it comes to writing anyhow.

Thanks if you made it so far! Please give me your thoughts! It was kinda rushed at the end... I just wanted Arthur to come out already. XD


	2. Chapter 2

It was Arthur Kirkland. **Arthur Kirkland**. _Arthur Kirkland_.

Let's just say that Alfred let out possibly the loudest scream of his life.

* * *

He'd had to apologize for that repeatedly afterwards. The first dozen times were directed to Arthur. He did feel kinda bad making his hero jump.

The second time was to Jane. Because apparently he was 'disrupting the other guests'.

Still, it was a brilliant, gloriously wonderful moment for Alfred.

Because Arthur Kirkland had screamed too.

* * *

(He'd also fired a great volley of swear words around the room. Words Alfred didn't even know _existed_.

And that was why he worshiped the man so much. Only a _badass_ like Arthur stilled shouted: 'Gordon Bennett!' in the 21st century.)

* * *

This particular Thursday was really stretching on longer than the others.

_That_ was Arthur's only thought as he listened to Francis and the American boy, Alfred, pour out their sob story. It hadn't been too bad in the beginning; he knew Francis had a tendency to over-exaggerate, and the American too, apparently had a 'thing' for adding unnecessary dramatics into a tale. Thankfully, years of dealing with Francis meant that he was able to separate the facts from the fairy-tale, but once the pieces were all together, it wasn't hard to realize that the 'ninjas with shotguns' was just a little bit too far-fetched.

"So, basically," he stated cynically, eyeing the pair over his cup of tea. "_You_ were robbed, and _you_ stumbled upon him and took him here. That was all. No ninjas, no shotguns. Am I correct?"

There was a bit of a pause. The two glanced sheepishly at each other and then down at the table. Arthur took this opportunity to look at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed since the start of the tale. Sigh.

"_Mon cher_! You must offer him some help!" Francis begged, a tear welling dramatically in the corner of his eye. "When I first found him, he had been lying there on the floor, helpless and completely alone! Please! You _must_ have a heart somewhere!"

"Oh shut up." Arthur scowled, folding his arms tightly over his chest and slightly embarrassed to be mocked before another person. "Of course I can lend a bloody _phone_. I'm not as heartless as you might think."

"I don't think that!" The American boy declared earnestly, eyes bright with enthusiasm and cheer. "Man, I've seen just about _all_ the films you've been in! You're really awesome! I've been looking up to you since, well, just about forever, y'know? You're always so badass, I've been wishing that I could be you since I was _ten_! You've always been my hero!"

Despite how ridiculous he appeared to be, despite the fact that his rant was almost completely detached from their original conversation, Arthur couldn't help but smile. Flattery certainly does wonders for one's ego, no matter how many times he may have heard the same lines on repeat.

"I thank you for that," he answered, smoothly, modestly, just as he had always done to all such declarations. "I hope you will come and see my next film; it should be a good one. Anyhow, back to the matter at hand. You needed my phone…?"

"Oh, yeah." The boy – Arthur wasn't even going to bother trying to remember his name now, no point – "Sorry, I'll just be a sec. Gonna call my brother."

"Fair enough." Nodding, Arthur slipped his hands into his pocket and fished out said mobile. "Take as long as you want. I don't mind."

"Thanks dude!" The boy beamed, and as he did so, it was as though his whole face had been lit up. His eyes positively glowed like light-bulbs. "I'll be careful with this! Try not to break it like my last phone – dropped it down the loo. Don't ask me how I did _that_."

"That's…" Why would anyone even _say_ something like that when borrowing someone else's phone?

The American gave him one last, enthusiastic grin before scuttling away into a corner to take his call.

Arthur stared after him blankly, before turning to stare accusingly at Francis, who, at this point, had been sitting idly by the side with the expression of a man engrossed in a film.

The Frenchman started.

"Explain." Arthur demanded, eyes narrowing threateningly.

Francis shrugged. "All that is needed to be explained has been explained, _monsieur_." He protested innocently. "What else is there that you need to know?"

Arthur glared. "Don't pull all that bull crap on me." He growled, shaking his head. "You know perfectly well what I mean! There's no need to call me out here just for a bloody mobile, is there? There's a phone at the desk!"

Francis chuckled, settling back upon his seat. "Well, he is not just a poor _garçon_ I bumped into on the street," he smiled. "I am, in fact, wondering if there is a possibility of him getting a job from you."

"Him?" Arthur blinked, both eyebrows raised in surprise. "That… That boy?"

"Hmm, _bien sûr_…" Francis nodded, and both turned their attention upon the American, currently facing the wall and exclaiming something in a loud, excited voice. "He is charming, _non_? And he seems a very outward boy. Useful, do you not think, when dealing with other important people and the media?"

Arthur furrowed his brows. "That may be, but…"

"Besides, I think he will do you some good."

The Englishman started visibly at this, his expression a confusion of curiosity and incredulity. "Me?" He repeated, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice. "How so?"

Francis shrugged. "Hmm… It was a vague hunch, _mon cher_, nothing more."

Arthur regarded his assistant coldly for a moment. "Then let _me_ be the one to decide." He muttered, sullenly folding his arms across his chest.

Francis chuckled. "We'll see."

A pause.

"So… his name's Alfred… Isn't it?"

* * *

"Mattie! Has he answered yet?!" Mr. Jones' voice echoed throughout the house, dark and worried and painfully reflective of the general atmosphere within the family.

"Not yet…!" The younger twin sighed, pressing his ear tiredly against his phone. He had tried, really he had, for what must have been the hundredth time, to contact his elder brother, but so far, there had been no luck.

"_Welcome to the Vodafone messaging service. Please leave a message after the tone, and when you've finished-_"

"Where could he _be_?" Mrs. Jones was wailing, her voice reaching new levels of hysteria as she turned to face her husband. "I _told_ you not to upset him! Life can be very difficult for a young man like him, we've all been through it! Oh God… I hope he's alright... Mattie! Has he -?"

"No, not yet." Biting his lip, Matthew dropped his phone on the couch and flicked his curl away from his face. "He's not answering any of my texts or calls."

"Where the _hell_ can he be?!" Matthew's father swore, pacing agitatedly up and down the living room. "This is ridiculous. He should have called by now! Who knows where he's wandered off to?! … London, for all we know!"

"Oh, I can't leave you to look after the kids for even a moment!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, dabbing a tissue against her eyes and completely disregarding the fact that neither Alfred nor Matthew were kids anymore. "Look what you've done! Who knows what sort of trouble he's been running into! A young man all alone in a foreign country…!"

"He speaks English, he can look after himself fine!" Alfred's father snapped, arms folded grimly across his chest. "Matthew, call your brother again, and tell him that I will _skin_ the little brat if he doesn't return by 5!"

"… _He could be forced on drugs_!" Mrs. Jones screamed. "He might have been attacked! Or murdered! _He could be dead right now and we don't even - _!"

"Mom, Alfred'll be alright…" Matthew tried to say, though his voice passed unheard through Mrs. Jones' panic. When his mother showed no signs of hearing him whatsoever, he sighed and turned his attention back towards his mobile.

And then a foreign number flicked up upon his screen.

"Well?!" His father demanded, eyes flashing fiercely. "Who is it?"

Matthew frowned.

"U-Uh…" He hesitated. "I'm not sure… It's a number I don't recognize…"

"Answer it! It might be Alfred!" Mrs. Jones urged, clutching her tissue close to her chest.

Matthew swallowed, nervously clicking the 'Answer' button.

"H-Hello…?"

"Hey! Mattie! That you?!" Alfred's familiar, cheerful voice called out from the speakers.

The impact it had upon the room was incredible. Mr. Jones paused in his tracks and turned, head tilted, to listen to the voice. Mrs. Jones ceased her sobbing and stood up, trembling faintly. Matthew could not stop the smile of relief that was blossoming upon his face. Alfred was alright.

"Al, I –!"

"What's that, Mattie?" Alfred's voice interrupted, so loud he must have had his mouth pressed right up to the microphone. "I can't hear you! Oh wait, I'll put it on speaker…" There was a brief pause. "Right then! Mattie, speak to me!"

"Al…" Matthew sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Where are you? We're all so worried! Dad…" he sneaked a peek towards his father. "Dad's furious, and Mom's in a frenzy. You need to come back."

"Ah, dude…" There was an awkward pause from the other end of the phone. "I'm fine, don't worry 'bout me! There's just been some, uh, complicated stuff going on. I'll explain when I get home, alright?"

"Oh god…" Matthew frowned. "What's happened?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" A nervous chuckle and a guilty voice. Never did this combination spell 'nothing'. "God Mattie, why d'you sound so strung up? Nothing's happened! Well… Nothing bad, anyway… Ahem, uh…"

"Why are you using a different number, by the way?" Matthew asked, adjusting his glasses curiously. "Whose phone is it?"

"Oh, this?" Now there was definitely a proud tinge in Alfred's voice. "This… This is Arthur Kirkland's phone! Yeah! I'm with Arthur Kirkland right now! Well… Actually, he's sitting there having tea and I'm just sorta, standing away from him. Haha, yeah! Total sickage, right?"

"Um… Yeah, sure…" Matthew mumbled, uncertainly. "What are you doing with Arthur Kirkland? And what happened to_ your_ phone, Al?"

"Oh…" And now the sheepish, guilty tone was back. "It's uh… I dropped it somewhere, I think… Um. Y-yeah, it's gonna be a _long_ story, so I'll have to explain once I'm back, alright?"

"Al…"

"What?!" The exclamation was so loud that Matthew was forced to hold the phone away from his ear. "It's nothing bad, I swear! Jeez, you're horrible, Mattie, accusing me like that."

"I didn't even say anything, Al…"

"Well, whatever. I can tell you're thinking it. Anyway! Just to let you and the old guys back at home know that I'm alright, y'know? My luck's been brilliant so far! I'm fucking here with _Arthur Kirkland_! I might even be getting a job! You don't know!"

"I really don't…" Matthew murmured faintly.

"Haha, so yeah! That's 'bout it! I'll give you folks a full recount as soon as I'm home, OK? Oh, that reminds me, you guys are gonna have to pick me up. It's um…" A pause, and Alfred's voice continued, fainter this time. "Sorry, Francis, uh, what's the address of here? … Right, Mattie, you still there?"

"Uh huh…" Barely.

"Alright. Well, I'm on this… Crescent Road place… I-In a hotel… It's called Silver Moon. Pretty neat place, actually. And um… Do I need a time, Francis? … Right, uh, can you come and get me 'round 3-ish?"

Bemused, Matthew relayed this information back to his parents. "… Dad says it's alright." He announced. "Who's Francis?"

"Um… Sorry, Matt, but I really don't have time to explain all this to you right now…" Alfred's voice came dimly through the receiver. "Uh, anyway, I promise I'll tell you _everything_ once I'm back, OK?"

"Al – "

"Alright then, I'm off. Wish me luck, Mattie!"

_For what?_ Matthew frowned, but the call had already ended.

* * *

Alfred was feeling great.

Sure, he'd been robbed. That was… Kind of a downer. And the screaming was… a little embarrassing. Still! He and Arthur Kirkland were having coffee together now! … With a French guy too. Yeah. Not so excited about the French guy, but Francis wasn't too bad. In fact, he was pretty cool, all things considered. You had to respect a guy who could pick up girls with just a wink and a flying kiss, after all.

"Thanks for the phone!" He told Arthur cheerfully, all but tossing the mobile towards the Englishman. The actor barely caught it, his face a blank expression of not-yet-registered shock, and oblivious, the American took his seat opposite his hero and took it upon himself to beam at everyone sitting at the table.

"So is everything sorted?" Francis questioned, resting his chin upon his palm.

"Oh, yup." Alfred beamed, brushing a hand over his cowlick. Even _that_ was able to make his scalp tingle in pain. "Ow… Um, yep, I called Mattie, and my parents are gonna pick me up sometime soon, so no worries."

"_Très bien_!" Francis nodded, absent-mindedly stirring his coffee. "I hope they know their way around the town better than you do, hmm?"

"Aw, dude!" Alfred groaned. Talk about prejudice…! Was that even the right word for it? "We just moved here like, a week ago. OK, well, maybe not a week ago, just… We haven't been here for a long time, OK? So cut me some slack already! I don't have a… whatddaya call'em? Photographic memory or whatever, so I can't help if I get lost, can I?"

Francis chuckled, raising his hands peacefully, and Arthur shook his head.

"Please, Mr. Jones," he gestured with a hand, "Take no notice of him. We can discuss some more important matters right now. Francis has told me that you were interested in a job, is that right?"

"Huh?" Alfred blinked. "Oh, yeah! He said you might have something to, uh, offer me, right? I can do anything y'know, I don't care. As long as the pay's, y'know, good, and you're not a complete slave-driver or something." He grinned. "You're not, right?"

Arthur looked faintly surprised. "W-Well… I would hope not…" He stuttered, his face flushing slightly. "Anyway… Ahem. Yes, yes, you are correct. I may be able to give you something in terms of occupation. Francis will be, well, resigning towards the end of the year, so I will need another personal assistant by next year – "

"Y- Hold up! Whoa!" Alfred interrupted, blinking in astonishment. "A-Are you… Are you gonna make me your personal assistant?!"

"Well – "Arthur began, but didn't much further than that.

"Oh my god! Dude!" Alfred exclaimed, leaping up to his feet. This was too good to be true! "You're gonna give me a job?! I'm gonna be your personal assistant?! Oh god! That's so…! God! What does that even mean?"

"Look, if you would sit down, then perhaps I will tell you." A hint of exasperation was creeping into Arthur's tone. Wisely, Alfred followed his command. He wasn't so stupid as to push his hero over his limit. "… Right. A personal assistant is someone who will be, for want of a better verb, assisting someone else. It will be your job to look after my house, arrange all my schedules, and take responsibility for my life whilst I concentrate on _my_ job." His lips curved into a faint, challenging smirk. "Do you understand?"

Alfred cringed. "What the – That doesn't really sound like fun."

"Jobs aren't meant to be fun." Arthur reprimanded, arms folded tightly across his chest. "That is what your job will be. If, that is, you decide to take it. And even then, I would like you to pass the interview before we consider anything else." He raised a single, heavy eyebrow, green eyes hard and challenging, almost condescending. "Do you think you can manage it?"

Alfred met his gaze head on.

"Of course I can!" He announced, confidently. "Just you wait and see, Arthur. I'll be the best personal assistant you've ever seen!"

"Oh, yes?" Arthur smiled. It was a quick, small smile, but a smile nevertheless. "Those are bold words, I must say."

"Dude. Just wait, alright?" Alfred grinned, and turned his gaze towards the idle Frenchman sitting at the side. "I'm gonna be a better assistant than that frog any day."

Arthur watched him for a moment, expression inscrutable, and then he broke into smile once again. A small but genuine smile that remained on his face this time.

"Yes," he agreed. "I'm sure you will."

* * *

"… And so Arthur was like," – Alfred frowned, preparing himself for his brilliant British accent impression – "'Jolly good, young lad. I'll take you on.' And… yeah! That's what happened. They're gonna interview me and everything."

"Oh, really?" Matthew smiled, genuinely pleased for his elder brother. "Alfred, that's great! But, um, if you don't mind me asking – "

"They're actually giving you a chance?" Alfred's father grunted unappreciatively, completely unaware of the fact that his second son had been speaking beforehand. "This is ridiculous, Alfred. The job hardly suits you."

"It does! It does!" Alfred exclaimed, pulling himself up to his feet in an excited frenzy. "Daaaaad! You don't understand! This is, like, the perfect job for me! It's what I've been waiting for all this time! Aren't you pleased for me? I mean, this way, I get to, uh, _interact_ with people, and this will _definitely_ look amazing on my CV. Imagine how many points I can score with _this_ one!"

"But, Alfred dear…" Interrupted Mrs. Jones, frowning as she perched herself besides her husband. "I'm afraid your father has a point. Are you sure that you can do this whole… personal assistant business? It involves, well, so many things that _you_ don't normally do in your daily life…"

"Aw, Mom, I can learn." Alfred grumbled, shifting his glasses. Really, was this the kind of support a hero should be getting from his loving and adoring family? "It's not that hard, right? I bet I can figure out how to work the dishwasher in, ooh, just under five minutes."

"It's not just about dishwashers, you know…" Matthew advised, shaking his head helplessly.

"And! I'm really strong, y'all know that. I can do loads of heavy work! Isn't that what, uh… personal assistants are all about?"

"It's more than that…" Matthew put in, sighing in exasperation. "Really, Alfred… Why would you even agree to a job if you don't even know what it is?"

"What? No, I do know what it's about!" Alfred pouted, folding his arms childishly across his chest. "It's like, uh… Well… No, it's like… Organizing stuff, right? Schedules? Phone calls? Office work? I-I… I don't know… Something like that, right Mattie? Right?"

"Well… As… _pleased_ as I am," Mr. Jones grimaced, though his words sounded vaguely contorted. "I must say… This was _not_ the type of job I had in mind for you."

"The income's _good_!" Alfred protested, beginning to grow frustrated. Where were the burgers and chips and free food they were supposed to be throwing in his direction at this moment? Why weren't they cracking open bottles of champagne and confetti instead of sitting so sternly in front of him like some sort of police interrogation?! God dammit, his family was _weird_.

"It's not just the income." Alfred's father reprimanded grimly. "I had hoped that you would find a job where you would carve your own future. Not… Not this. This is a job tending after someone _else_'s life. You'll have no time for yourself." Here, he looked up, directly into his son's eyes. "Is that what you really want?"

"It's a _once in a lifetime opportunity_!" Alfred emphasized, already struggling to keep a rein on his temper. "Look, Dad, I don't know why you're always having problems with me, but this is what I want to do, right now, OK? He, Arthur Kirkland, is my hero, and I wanna work for him. Besides, his old personal assistant, Francis, is resigning. If I don't take it, then it's gone! Forever! And I'm not – "

"And _why_ did this, 'Francis' resign if the job really is as wonderful as you say it is?" Mr. Jones pressed, relentless.

"Because - !" But how the _hell_ was he supposed to know?! "Look, they didn't tell me, alright?! People resign all the time, don't they? It's nothing wrong with the _job_ – Goddammit. I can't talk to you old people like this! First you whine about me not having a job and then you whine about me actually getting one. Fuck it, guys, _what is it you want me to do_?!"

"Alfred, you are _crossing the line_!" Mr. Jones raged, standing up abruptly.

"Fuck you!" Alfred tossed over his shoulder. And then he was gone, thundering up the stairs with an angry huff and a fierce slam of the door. Second time that day. Whoo.

"I'll go after him." Matthew sighed.

* * *

_Goddammit, they're so _annoying_! They never agree to anything _I_ do. Well, I'll be damned before I fucking listen to them…!_

_Hah, and I bet they're gonna send Mattie up here in, what, 5 minutes? Ugh, what is he, a fucking peace offering? I can't believe _he_ can deal with them so well… Then again, isn't Mattie just some sort of perfect everybody-loves-me kinda guy? Goddammit…_

_Haha, I can hear him coming now. God, they're so _stupid_…_

And sure enough, there was a faint tap on the door, too quiet to be anyone except Mattie. Still simmering, Alfred growled.

"Leave me alone."

"I didn't plan on talking to you to begin with. Maybe you've forgotten, but… We _do_ share a room. Is it alright if I come in?"

Alfred rolled up in bed, assessing the closed door with wary eyes. Eventually he gave in, grudgingly. "Fine. Do whatever you like, I don't care."

Tentatively, Matthew tugged the door open and slipped into the room. His elder brother was sitting cross-legged upon his bed, clutching a pillow and glaring venomously at his duvets. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition. Sighing inwardly, Matthew closed the door behind him and clambered up to join his twin.

Alfred glared at him. "Thought you were leaving me alone." He mumbled sulkily into his pillow.

Matthew rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Al, I think you need to stop acting like a stroppy 5 year old…" He said, heading straight to the point. "It's childish, and it's just stupid. Why can't you ever talk to Dad normally?"

"'Cos he doesn't want me to get a job _I_ want!" Alfred whined. So he _did_ sound like a 5 year old. Go fuck yourself. "I'm _19_! He doesn't get to control my life anymore, fuck it! And besides, it's _Arthur Kirkland_! How insane would I be to miss this chance?! Look, look, Mattie, if you were in my shoes, what would you do?"

"Well…" Matthew paused, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "I would stay calm and try to explain to them my own reasoning for choosing the job, really…"

"Haha, _sure_ you would. You _know_ how much of a control freak Dad can be."

"Yes… But Al, that's not the point." Matthew frowned. "It's one thing to go for whatever it is you want to do, but there's no need to kick up such a fuss about it; it just makes it more awkward for everyone else."

"Yes, I _know_, but…!" Well, he couldn't actually think of a reason. Still, it seemed kinda pathetic to just let it go at that. "I was robbed!"

… Oops. Didn't mean to blurt that out.

Matthew froze. "You what?"

"I… Haha, d-did I say something?" Alfred tried to chuckle. It sounded more like a strangled wheeze than anything else.

"A-Alfred, you were _robbed_?" Matthew's eyes seemed to grow wider by the minute. "Oh my god… It was _you_ who was robbed? I thought this innocent girl was attacked and you leapt in to save – Oh god, Al. You made that up just so you can sound like a stupid _hero_!"

"What? No! Nothing like that!" Alfred protested, cheeks flushing vibrantly. "A-And I didn't mean that _I_ was robbed, or anything. Um… Well, I was. You see, this dude just… Well… Ow! Don't touch me there! That hurts!"

"What on _earth_ happened to your head?" Matthew was gaping. "Look at your scalp… Ouch, that looks sore… Alfred, why didn't you tell us?!"

"Ow… Well, it's nothing much, is it?" Alfred folded his arms. "I-I mean, I'm fine now. It's n-nothing…"

"Is _that_ why you didn't answer your phone?" Matthew continued, sounding increasingly horrified as the pieces began to fall. "Is that why you had to use Arthur's phone? _Maple_, Alfred… You're ridiculous…!"

"Yeah, I am, happy?" Alfred snapped, a little cross at the constant probing. "Look – ow! Stop that, will you?! I'm fine! – Look – Leave my head alone! – about this whole 'job' business, whose side are you on, Matt? Honestly. I mean, you must understand what I'm talking about here, right? This is _my_ dream! Is it so wrong for me to go after it?"

"W-Well…" Here, Matthew faltered, averting his eyes thoughtfully. "I… I guess…"

_C'mon, Mattie! _He needed at least _one_ person on his side._ You know you wanna pick me, Matt! Pick meeeee!_

"… Um… Well, maybe there isn't anything wrong with doing what you want to do…" Matthew mumbled.

_Yaaaaaay! Mattie's the beeeeest!_

"… But all the same, you didn't need to be so rude about it… There are definitely stuff you have to change, Al… Especially for the interview."

And finally, his shy, younger twin managed to meet his gaze.

"I'm sure Arthur wants a good assistant, after all."

* * *

"My, my." Remarked Francis, perched casually upon Arthur's hotel bed. "_Mon cher_…! Despite my predictions, you really have quite… taken to this Alfred boy, _non_?"

Standing before the mirror, Arthur paused to consider this question before resuming his task of pulling a comb through his hair. It didn't make any difference, of course; Arthur's hair was as stubborn as the man himself, but it was a ritual that was performed nevertheless. "I don't believe I treated him any different from other people." He answered at last, his tone calm and even.

"Perhaps so, but I thought that you were unbelievable tolerant of him." Francis commented, resting his chin thoughtfully on his palm as he watched the other man attempt to tame his hair. "You never usually handle it so well when other fans start screaming at you."

"At least _he_ had enough manner to apologize." Arthur huffed, frowning at the apparently unchanged appearance of his hair. "I can hardly complain about someone if they are polite. It's basic courtesy, after all."

"Ah." Nodded Francis, in a tone that suggested 'I know what you really mean, don't try to hide it'.

Sensing this immediately, the Englishman turned to face his assistant, eyebrows raised. "Look, think of it what you will, I don't care: it's not true. I am merely considering the possibilities of hiring him. You know I won't make any rash decisions before the interviews."

"Ah _oui_." Humming, Francis rolled over on to his stomach, absent-mindedly twirling a finger through his hair. "Did you not say that you were going to take the interviews yourself?"

"Yes. This time I will be sorting out my own assistants, thank you very much." Arthur shrugged, finally abandoning his comb. "Do you think I would have purposefully chosen to be stuck with you if it wasn't for my parents?"

Francis smirked. "_Cher_ Arthur… You know you love me."

"You wish, frog."

The Frenchman laughed at that, and let the comment slide by as a victory for Arthur. He'd get back to him later. "I've organized all the interviews accordingly." He said, reaching for the file packed full of plans and dates and schedules. "Hmm… Let's see… Two have been arranged three weeks from now, and three more in a month's time. Are you _sure_ you can handle all those interviews whilst you're working?"

"Shut up, you git. I'm not a child anymore." Indignantly, Arthur threw himself on to the bed besides his assistant. "I'll simply have to work harder in the meantime. That reminds me, hand me the script over there."

Francis shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He sang, even as he reached out towards the heavy book resting upon the bedside table.

"Yes, yes, _mother_." Arthur growled irritably, taking the book from the Frenchman's hands. "Here. Help me practice scene 3, from the part where I enter."

"Hmm? Line 30?"

"Yes. Wait, no, start reading from line 28, and then I'll come into the scene…"

* * *

**A/N: **First off, thank you for everyone who has reviewed last chapter! :D Each and every single fave, follow, comment has made me extremely happy! I love you guys~!

And second, I apologize for any mistakes and OOC-ness in this chapter. It was... hard to squeeze it out of my brain, if I'm honest, but it's here now. Um. Hopefully, it isn't so terrible as to turn anyone off. XD I'll try and up my standards for later chapters! T^T

Thank you very much! (From now on, in the spirit of Hetalia, I'm gonna try and say 'thank you' in as many languages as I can... Using Google Translate if necessary! XD)


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